by JE Gurley
Before Alan could respond, to his astonishment, the mud moved. Terror gripped him, squeezing the air from his lungs. His pulsed thundered in his ears. It was all he could do to keep from running away screaming; the ebony creatures had returned. Then, noticing Masowe’s lack of apprehension, he took a closer look at the creature and saw that it was too small to be the ebony monster. It was barely larger than a beach towel.
“The meta-millipede has offspring,” he gasped as realization struck him. He was both amazed and frightened by his discovery.
“Yes, there are many of its babies living in the water,” Masowe said. “They prefer the water to the land; nevertheless, they venture out upon it when hungry.”
Now, he had more reason than ever to seal the tunnels. Just the handful of the creatures they had seen could devastate the outside world. Hundreds could wipe mankind from the face of the planet. God or nature had been kind to seal the monsters in the cavern below the surface so many eons ago. It had taken the greed and audacity of humans to release them.
Eve had noticed the immature creatures as well. Her hand pressed against her open mouth, and she sagged against a boulder for support. He wanted to go to her, to reassure her, but the gesture would have been meaningless. She was well aware of the danger they faced. If the babies were here, then mama must be nearby.
“Is Intulo here?” he asked Masowe.
Masowe closed his eyes for a moment. “No,” he said with finality. “I sense it is far away in the mine.”
Alan’s relief that the creature was not nearby withered with the realization that all his plans were for naught. “My God,” he moaned. “It’s loose. I’m too late.”
“Perhaps not,” Sandersohn said. His gaze remained fixed on the struggle between hylononus and baby monster, a battle the lizard could not hope to win. Its death was as inevitable as the eventual extinction of its dinosaur descendants.
“What do you mean?”
“Fascinating.”
“Get to your point,” Alan urged him.
“Most creatures maintain a bond of some kind with their offspring. If these creatures are as intelligent as we think, they will also.”
Intrigued, Alan asked, “How does that help us?”
“If we threaten the babies, mama might come to the rescue.”
Masowe stared at them. “You cannot deceive Intulo.”
Exasperated, Alan confronted the Zulu. “It’s no god, Masowe. Does God have babies? It’s a creature no one has ever seen before, but it’s no god.”
“It created them from its flesh, like your Christian God.”
“God made man, not more gods. There can only be one God. God can’t create gods.”
While Masowe pondered the theological dilemma he had put forward, Alan turned back to Sandersohn. “Drawing them back by threatening the young makes more sense than using us as bait, but I’m afraid my original plan won’t work. Even if I ignite the methane and cause a cave-in, it won’t bring down the roof. The rock is dense granite and obsidian, not kimberlite as I hoped. Sealing the tunnel the Cerberus dug isn’t enough, and there’s still the crack in the wall we came through.” He pointed to the series of openings in the cliff. “Any one of these caves could intersect other mine shafts. A tremor could create a new opening, releasing these horrors on an unsuspecting world.”
“What do you propose?”
“I have to gain access to the Cerberus and bring it here.” He pointed to one of the pillars holding up the roof of the magma chamber. “The Cerberus’ lasers can direct enough heat to the base of the pillar to weaken it. The weight of the rock above should bring down the entire roof.”
Eve walked over to him. Her initial shock at seeing the young Intulos had worn off, but her pained expressed mirrored her fear. Her voice trembled as she said, “You can’t go back to your machine, Alan. Those … things could come back at any moment.”
He had considered that possibility, but he had been willing to sacrifice himself earlier. Nothing had changed. In fact, the necessity had become more urgent. “I have to take a chance. Don’t you see? If I can draw the creatures to me, the rest of you can escape through the crack and back into the mine.”
“You will die,” she said.
Regret filled her voice. Alan’s resolve wavered. He wished things had unfolded differently. Eve was someone he might have come to love. Sometimes love, he reminded himself, just isn’t in the cards.
“No,” Masowe said. “He will not.”
Masowe’s certainty confused him. “Why not?”
“If the creatures are not Intulo, if they are monsters as you say, then this place is not Uhlanga. Bring your machine here. Show me how to operate it. I will remain here. Intulo is a creature of Zulu legend, and I am the son of a Zulu sangoma. It is my place to destroy it.” He grimaced as he tapped his finger against his temple. “It is in here, inside my head. It toys with me. I must free myself of it.”
“You should reconsider your offer,” Alan said. “I’ll do it.”
Masowe hung his head. “I know you think I am mad. Perhaps I am or was for a short time, but I am thinking clearly now. How can I continue with my life with the memory of the creatures inside my mind, scarring it as my body is now scarred?” He shook his head. “I am descended from warriors. Let me die as a warrior.”
Alan stared at the Zulu security guard as he considered his plea. He, too, had felt the shadow of the creature in his mind. How much darker was its presence in Masowe’s? When he looked back at the lagoon, more of the immature creatures had joined the first to engulf the lizard completely. Its struggles ceased. A few minutes later, they returned to the water, slipping below its sluggish surface, leaving nothing behind.
“All right. You discovered this place. You deserve the opportunity to determine its fate. When we’ve rested, we’ll accompany the others to the crack, and make sure they make it out before we continue to the Cerberus. If I can gain control of its systems, I’ll show you what to do on the way back. If not,” he shrugged, “we die.”
Masowe smiled. “We will die as warriors.”
“I won’t leave you,” Eve insisted.
“Yes you will. You have to guide the others through the mine to the surface. You’re the only one who knows the way. Sandersohn.” He handed Sandersohn theR4 rifle. “Take this. You might need it.” Sandersohn took the rifle and nodded. “Help Doctor Tells. Be gentle with him but keep him moving. You might not have much time.”
“What about you?” he asked.
“Once I show Masowe what to do, I’ll join you somewhere along the way, but don’t wait for me. I’ll catch up. The insects will be around the elevators looking for a way out. Eve, is there another, safer way out?”
“The ore conveyor belt on 70 Level. It leads to the old mining pit. It and the skip elevator on 65 Level are the only other two exits.”
“Try for the conveyor on 70 Level. It’s closer.”
Eve fell to her knees beside Alan and wrapped her arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder. “Oh, Alan,” she whispered. “Don’t do it, please.”
He returned her embrace, wishing he had time to linger with her in his arms. After a few moments, he pushed her away, clasping her hands in his. “Don’t worry about me. I’m a Nevada boy. I’m as fast as a jackrabbit and tougher than an armadillo. I’ll see you outside.”
She wiped her eyes and nodded.
“I have a small medical kit in my bag. See if you can tend to some of Masowe’s wounds.” She looked at him as if saying, “Why bother?” If Masowe was willing to die in his place, they could at least make his pain bearable. “I think I have a bottle of water left. Pass it around. Make sure Doctor Tells drinks some. He looks dehydrated.”
She glanced at Masowe’s arm, the more serious of his injuries, if not the most painful. “I’ll do what I can.”
Alan took a last look at the swamp four kilometers beneath the earth. Whatever the outcome, it was better than dying in the belly of a volcano and joining the rest of th
e decaying vegetation to become oil for someone’s chainsaw in a few million years.
22
July 6, 2016, 10:30 a.m. Ngomo Mine, the Reservoir –
Verkhoen was pleased with himself. Dealing with Duchamps had brought his mind back into focus. He was convinced that releasing the water in the reservoir was the only solution. Duchamps had unwittingly seconded his opinion. Flooding the mine would drown all the creatures and wash them back to the lower levels, especially the black devils that had killed his men. It would also take care of Eve Means and Alan Hoffman. He shuddered at the look of hatred on Hoffman’s face when he had abandoned them in the lava tube. Hoffman’s burning glare frightened him almost as much as the black creatures. Flooding the mine would solve all his problems. The diamonds in his case would pay to pump the water from the mine and restart operations, and more diamonds awaited him in the lava tube. Plus that bastard Duchamps’ stash.
The reservoir was simply a nine-hundred-meter-long horizontal shaft. Dozens of airshafts connected the mine’s many levels and tunnels with a network of pumps and fans. There was no floodgate or relief valve to empty it, but Verkhoen had conceived of a way to achieve his goal. Ten levels above where he had left Duchamps, his miners were blasting the gold-bearing rock face. They would not have had time to secure the explosives before evacuating the mine. A few bags of ammonium nitrate would shatter the roof of the tunnel immediately below the reservoir. The weight and pressure of the water would do the rest. 1.5 billion liters of water would race through the mine like a flushed toilet.
Along the way, he passed two dismembered corpses wearing camouflaged uniforms and carrying Heckler and Koch MP5 sub machineguns. He recognized the single star on the bloody remains of a beret and the sleeve patch, an inverted commando knife within a laurel wreath, as belonging to the SADF Special Forces. He cursed aloud. If the military had taken control of the mine, he couldn’t escape through the elevators as he had planned. They had either overridden his lockout or rappelled down the shaft. If they caught him, especially with a suitcase full of diamonds, they would immediately detain and question him. His influence and status would be useless with the military authorities. He would have to find another way out of the mine.
He remembered his father’s one folly, one both he and his father had worked fervently to bury in the past. Twenty years earlier, his father had drilled a vertical shaft five-hundred meters straight down on the far side of the mine and dug a horizontal adit to intersect one of the main shafts. It took three costly attempts to connect them. Within months, the vein in that direction played out, and he had ordered the shaft sealed. Few people other than the mine supervisor knew of its existence. He was certain no one would be watching it. To reach it, however, he would have to cross the entire width of the mine.
He discarded his R4 rifle, picked up one of the HK MP5s, and examined it. The six-pound weight felt familiar in his hands. He had trained with the .22 caliber version while in school and had become an expert marksman; however, this was the real thing, firing heavier caliber .9mm parabellum bullets at 800 rounds per minute. The Special Forces version he held came equipped with a noise suppressor, a laser sight, and a flashlight attached to the barrel. Pleased with his find, he gingerly removed a second clip from the dead soldier’s uniform and slung the weapon it over his shoulder.
A spiral concourse connected 60 Level to 30 Level. This allowed him to avoid using the elevator and alerting the military to his presence. Reaching the shaft on 50 Level he sought, he located an abandoned explosives cart loaded with twenty bags of ANFO – Ammonium Nitrate Fuel Oil – a case of dynamite, a box of electric blasting caps, a full reel of wire, and a detonator. He whistled a few bars of Chopin, his favorite composer, as he rolled the deadly cart back to the ramp.
30 Level was as high as the concourse went. He had no choice but risk the elevator to reach 20 Level directly below the reservoir. Punching in the code he had used to seal the elevators, he was delighted to find it still worked. If he were lucky, they wouldn’t notice the elevator operating. If they did, they might attribute it to a SADF team. Either way, he would be gone before anyone came to investigate.
Carefully choosing a spot midway of the shaft, he piled the bags of ANFO against a wooden beam bearing the weight of a heavy crossbeam supporting the roof. He punched holes in several bags and inserted sticks of dynamite with fused blasting caps. He piled the remainder of the dynamite around the bags of ANFO. He ran the wire two-hundred meters along the mineshaft until he emptied the spool. Then, he connected the ends of the wire to the battery-powered detonator. He didn’t need the entire spool of wire; the detonator had a built-in timer for delayed ignitions, but he preferred to be as far away as possible if something went wrong. He set the timer for three hours, the amount of time he estimated he would need to cross the mine and exit through the old shaft. He didn’t want to risk becoming a victim of his own manmade flood. He smiled as he pushed the button starting the timer.
The passageway intersecting the old elevator shaft was on 22 Level, two levels below him. After setting the detonator, he trotted down the passageway to the airshaft. Just before he reached it, the lights went out.
Nothing to worry about, he thought. The military is just playing games.
Verkhoen switched on the flashlight attached to the barrel of the MP5 and used it to light his path. When he reached the airshaft, he played the light over the wire mesh grate. Two, red, glowing compound eyes stared back at him reflected by the light. Before he could fire, the screen crashed outward, followed by an enormous scorpion-like creature, its barbed tail lashing about like a bullwhip. Sharp pincers tipped the front pair of its eight legs, and its compound mouthparts clacked from side to side in anticipation of an easy meal. It leaped into the tunnel and bounded away into the darkness, avoiding his flashlight. In his haste to track it, he made the mistake of turning his back to the open vent. His ears detected the sound of another of the creatures crawling up the shaft.
“Sneaky bastards,” he said. “Trying to set me up.”
He spun on his right heel and fired a burst across the mouth of the opening, stitching a line of holes in the second creature’s carapace. It hissed and fell back down the shaft, banging against the sides of the shaft as it fell. He turned his attention to the remaining scorpion.
He knew it was near. He could feel it, but he couldn’t find it. Unless the beam of the flashlight reflected from its compound eyes, it was almost invisible in the darkness. He remembered an old survival tip a guide had related to him on a trip to the Kalahari in Namibia. When stranded in the desert without food or water, you could always count on nature’s cleaning crew, vultures. They always showed up for death. If you remained motionless and played dead, they would approach to within arm’s reach before attacking. Their meat was stringy and foul, but it beat starving, and their blood provided life-giving moisture.
He extinguished his flashlight, closed his eyes, and stood with his back against the wall to force the bug to attack from his front or sides. He fought down his fear of insects. He imagined the scorpion as a hyena, prowling the edge of camp while on safari. He listened. A soft scraping to his right repeated. He knew switching on the flashlight would spook it. He would have to rely on the laser sight. He would have time for only one shot. He would have to make it count.
He raised the MP5 and flicked on the laser sight in one fluid motion. The red dot painted an object just a few meters away. He knew it wasn’t a wall. He fired on full automatic, allowing the recoil to push his weapon up and to the left. He sprayed the entire area with bullets. Satisfied he had hit the creature, he switched on his flashlight.
The scorpion lay on its side twitching, but a pool of yellow ichor ran from several tightly grouped holes in its head. One compound eye was smashed and dripping gore. He fired one last burst into it to finish it off. The creature stopped moving. He spat on it for good measure.
“Take that, you bloody bastard.”
He picked up the case of dia
monds and continued his journey across the mine. He met no more creatures, for which he was grateful. It meant they had not reached the abandoned tunnel. A fire-resistant brattice cloth hanging across the shaft marked the beginning of the older dig. When he pushed it aside, it was like opening the door to a blast furnace. A wave of scorching, dry air swept over him. The tunnel had no ventilation. The temperature hovered around 520 C, the temperature of a rare steak. The sweltering air quickly desiccated his lungs, making each breath a challenge. He wiped his parched lips on the back of his dehydrated hand and wished he had brought water.
There were no lights in the tunnel, and he had only the flashlight on the MP5. He was so exhausted from his long day of exertion that he barely had the strength to hold the weapon in his hands. In places, the shaft narrowed and the roof dipped to within one-and-a-half meters of the floor. He walked stooped over, dragging the case behind him, one hand brushing the blistering wall of the tunnel. He was dimly aware of the burning in his fingertips, but he ignored it.
When at last he reached the abandoned vertical shaft, he looked at the wire mesh covering the elevator cage and almost gave up. There had been no power to the elevator for over a decade. Even if it had electricity, he wouldn’t trust it. The wooden floor was rotten and the cables were rusty. He didn’t have the strength to remove the wire mesh, let alone make the long climb to the surface. He looked up the shaft, his eyes drawn to the miniscule square of daylight five-hundred meters above him. It was a long climb, but it ultimately led to safety.
He had no choice. It was either climb or die, and he was too stubborn to let death find him in such a deep, dark, and lonely place. He checked his watch, but the 6,000 US dollar Tag Heuer chronograph wasn’t working. Somewhere along his journey, he had smashed it. He didn’t know how much time he had left. He rested for as long as he could, but the thought of the ebony monsters somewhere behind him compelled him to action. He threaded the strap of his MP5 through the handle of the case of diamonds and slung both over his shoulder.